


Lying Is(n't) the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off

by ChrissiHR



Series: The Many Loves of Darcy Lewis (a 1950s AU) [3]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: 1950s Slang, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Amusement Parks, Boys Kissing, Camping, Complicated Relationships, Cruising, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Family Issues, First Dates, Flirting, French Kissing, Frottage, Groping, Heavy Petting, James Dean Bucky Barnes, Kissing, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Multi, Multiamory, Parking, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Ableism, Period-Typical Anti-Immigrant Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Polyamory, Secret Relationship, Sweater Girl Darcy Lewis, Teasing, Teenage Drama, Young Love, and other teenage shenanigans, necking, running the bases
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 18:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16581446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrissiHR/pseuds/ChrissiHR
Summary: The morning after the Sadie Hawkins Dance and bonfire party on the beach, Darcy's fellas meet her parents. Darcy's mama isn't impressed. Her daddy, on the other hand...





	Lying Is(n't) the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off

**Author's Note:**

> Song prompt: “Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off” by Panic! At the Disco
> 
> Pre-reader thanks go to Zephrbabe and phoenix-173, and extra Brooklyn-related assistance provided by Aenaria. Not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine!
> 
> Before you begin, you should know the inspo for this story came from several sources, but it's going to touch on some uncomfortable subjects that inspired it, too, like period-typical attitudes towards the disabled and immigrants because I think these issues are timely, but also because those attitudes were prevalent in the 50s and I happen to be writing a 50s AU. Holding up a mirror to our past to really look at how far we've come and recoiling from those attitudes is an important step in not falling back on shitty, outdated attitudes. Progress is good. Let's make more by shining a light on the dark shit still lingering in the corners, yeah?
> 
> This story is Part 3 in The Many Loves of Darcy Lewis (a 1950s AU) Series. I’ve been chipping away at this since last year, but it takes place in November, so what better time to post it? If you haven’t read the short stories comprising Part 1, Sadie Hawkins, and Part 2, Beach Party, this story won’t make a lick of sense. Go back and catch up before you continue here!
> 
> Also of note: Darcy mentions in this story that Clint doesn’t yet have his New York driver’s license. Clint is Profoundly Deaf in this series. Though there was a lot of talk in the U.S. between the 20s and 60s about concerns over the ability of deaf drivers to operate cars safely, the facts said otherwise. Deaf drivers had impeccable driving records compared to their hearing counterparts and attempts to ban deaf persons from driving were repeatedly struck down. Clint can ride a horse backwards, bareback, and barefoot while loosing arrows without missing his target; he can and damn well will drive a car in this series. ;-)
> 
> Darcy’s Car: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chevrolet_Nomad

The morning after the beach party, Darcy barely had two hours after the fellas dropped her off in the alley a few doors down from her house to run home and sneak up the back stairs before her mother caught her in her dungarees, still a mess from the beach. She took a quick, hot bath (knowing Mama would hear the water running and simply assume she'd come home early rather than barging in to check on her) and re-dressed in some tapered pants and a comfortable boatneck sweater seconds before the bell rang, announcing the first of her parents’ guests for Saturday brunch. 

“Darcy Jean?” Mama called up the rear stairwell.

“Mama?” Darcy peered over the railing at her mother, standing at the bottom of the service stairs in the butler’s pantry, wondering why on earth her mother came looking for her just moments after the bell rang. Darcy wasn’t even supposed to be home from Janey Anne’s yet. Shouldn't Mama be entertaining their guest?

“I’d like to speak with you in private for a moment.” She pointed at the back stairs to the kitchen and Darcy knew what that meant. She should go right on down and through to Daddy’s study and wait for one or both of her parents to join her.

“Am I in trouble?” Surely, word of her relatively tame adventures in kissing under a blanket at the beach party couldn’t have gotten back to Mama’s ears already...?

“No, of course not, darling,” Mama assured Darcy Jean as she reached the bottom of the stairs at a sedate pace. Mama gathered up Darcy by the shoulders and steered her to Daddy's study, to a seat across from Daddy’s desk. She settled by Darcy’s side on the long, low davenport Daddy liked to pretend he didn’t nap on after Sunday morning Bloody Marys.

“What is it?” Darcy begged, wondering if one of her teachers called home. Had she made a bad mark at school? She fiddled with the hem of her baby pink sweater and tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat as half a dozen possible infractions played on a loop in her memories. 

Her mother cleared her throat. “I had the most unusual call this morning from Edna Berk. You know how she loves the little dumpling dish from the deli at Brighton Beach for Sunday brunch—well, of course you don’t know, but she does. She’s mad for it and goes to put in her order on the weekend so she never runs out—”

“Mama?” Darcy interrupted, wondering what on earth had her mother rambling. Her mother never  _ rambled _ .

“Well.” Mama folded her hands in her lap, unfolded them again, and refolded them twice more before finding the words to suit. “I had a call from Mrs. Berk this morning. She…” Mama took a deep breath. “She said she saw you carrying on down to Brighton Beach with a couple of hooligans in a gang, riding motorcycles of all things, and out all night in your clothes from the night before, looking like a hooligan yourself. Of course, I told her she was mistaken. The juniors and seniors always have a bonfire the night of Sadie Hawkins. It’s just tradition now to go out with one’s friends and carry on down to the beach in your silly costume clothes from the dance, but she harped on and on about you being accompanied by two young men in gang jackets in particular, that they  _ both _ appeared to be accompanying you, and it’s no business of hers, of course, but I’m your mother, dear, and sure as certain, there’s little your Aunt Devlin hasn’t done ten times worse than you, backwards and topless with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, but she’s a bit of a black sheep, you know, and so everyone looks the other way because Devlin will be Devlin and our parents shouldn’t have named us Angela and Devlin if they didn’t mean for us to turn out exactly so.”

Darcy’s eyebrows disappeared under her fringe. She blinked several times, trying to parse all the information her mother just imparted.

“Darcy Jean.” Her mother laid a hand on the back of Darcy’s. “Tell me what you did overnight that will explain the two young men I’ve left cooling their heels and sipping a pair of Coca-Colas in the sunroom. They’re very polite, your visitors, but they do make it look like Edna Berk isn’t entirely off base, gossipy though she is and prone to embellishment. There has to be a better explanation than the nonsense Edna tattled about teenage gangs over the party line this morning.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, “I don’t suppose either of them are Orthodox? You know how your grandparents can be...” Mama trailed off, looking askance and sighing in a very put upon way.  

Darcy shook her head. “Bucky—that’s James? He’s Irish Catholic and Clint is … um, I’m not sure Clint belongs to any church or temple. I think they might’ve had an interfaith minister of some kind along with the circus, but Clint hasn’t spoken of it at all, really.” Religion had been the least of her worries, but now that she thought about it… “Are you upset my new friends aren’t Jewish?”

“Heavens, no!” Her mother clasped Darcy’s hands in both of her own and shook her head. “No, absolutely not. You, yourself, are only just Jewish enough to be called so with a gentile father of your own. No, no, nothing of the sort. Your father isn’t even a little bit Jewish. And that isn’t the point. Circus people are different, Darcy Jean. They’re… They’re vagrants and gypsies, thieves and con artists. These are people on the run for a  _ reason _ , darling. I mean… I knew the likelihood you’d find a _suitable_ , Jewish young man at Madison High was a bit ludicrous, really, but a circus performer, Darcy Jean? What would the neighbors think? Here I’ve been, hoping you’d see reason and agree to a year of finishing school at some point, but you’ve been so determined… And now this! We just won’t tell your grandparents about your new friends is all. Even your father only got a pass because his grandmother knew your grandfather when they were children, no matter your daddy’s suitability and fine, broad shoulders.”

“Ew, Mama, not about Daddy.” Darcy pulled a face and shook her head in disgust. “If it’s not about their religion, then what…?” she demanded.

“I’ll try my best to explain, but first tell me about your new friends, Darcy Jean.” Her mother assumed the relaxed position of a much younger woman, one knee tucked up under the other leg, and turned to face her. 

“They’re a bit of a matched set, I suppose,” Darcy Jean began. “When I first met Clint, I knew he was deaf—Profoundly Deaf, it’s called—he can’t hear anything at all, but even though he reads lips pretty well, it still takes a while for him to learn a new person’s speech … patterns, I guess you'd say. Even so, sometimes, it’s just easier to use the special finger signals for letters or words. I’m learning them, but it’s real slow going. James—that's Bucky—knows all the finger signals because his other best pal is Stevie Rogers, who’s hard of hearing. That means he only has a little hearing and sometimes, none at all, when he’s very ill and his ears clog up so poorly. Bucky learned the finger signals from a library book when he was just a boy. Oh, Mama,” Darcy got excited about this part. “He’s so well read. He’s learned so much from books and taught himself so many new trades and hobbies just by reading free books from the library! He lives over his Uncle Chester’s auto service station. He’s saving up to buy into the business someday so he can help his cousin in New Jersey take care of Bucky's baby sisters. And Clint—he and his brother used to travel all over North and South America with the circus. They’re both especially skilled in archery—”

“Archery?” Mama looked a bit faint. She pressed a hand to her throat and, reluctantly, made a motion with the other hand for Darcy Jean to continue. 

“A bow and arrows?” Darcy checked to make sure her mother understood. When Mama nodded with a weary sigh, Darcy carried on, “He’s so especially skilled, Mama. They called him The Amazing Hawkeye in the circus. You’d think, with his hearing problems, the armed services wouldn’t want a fella like him, but they’re just about beating down his door to recruit him, even though his brother wants him to go to college anyhow. He’s so dreamy with his bow, Mama, like a real life Robin Hood, but so much dreamier than that old Errol Flynn. I got to see him shoot his arrows at a target on the beach last night and he hit the center of the bullseye every time, no matter what position he stood in or how the wind off the water kicked up the sand. No one else even came close! Most of the boys couldn't pull back the bowstring at all! Andone time, Bucky even covered Clint’s eyes and Clint _still_ hit the target right in the bullseye!” Darcy sighed and collapsed against the back of the davenport. “And Bucky, who has excellent hearing, by the way of it, needs eyeglasses to read and drive, just like me—well, not that I drive, but if I did.” 

“So…” her mother ventured, “you’re thinking of stepping out with one of them socially for a dance or some such and the other is … part of the package?”

“Something like that.” Darcy smiled because there really wasn’t much more she could say without either prevaricating horribly or lying outright.

“Well, this Bucky sounds like a hard-working sort, an ambitious young man with a good head on his shoulders, even if he is … Irish Catholic.”

Darcy’s smile wavered. 

Mama patted her hand. “Oh, none of that face now. I’ve barely met your new friends, but neither of them are very suitable company, in all honesty. A Catholic, Darcy. And Irish! You’d spend the rest of your life popping out freckled, nearsighted brats. If this is an itch you truly must scratch to live a little wild before settling down after school, I won’t tell you no, of course, but the dumb one—”

“Clint’s not dumb!”

“There is an oral school for the deaf right here in Brooklyn. I know because your father’s church holds fundraisers. The entire purpose of that school is to teach those who cannot hear how to read lips and quite specifically not to use that dreadful finger signing to call further attention to one’s infirmity. How will he ever become a part of a society he cannot participate in if he never tries?”

“Mama…” Darcy’s heart ached. There was nothing wrong with Clint. He got along just fine. The finger signing made his life easier, not harder. 

“And he’s really not much of anything without his friend, is he? Totally reliant on others, from what you’ve said. How will that make you feel in the long term, Darcy Jean, knowing you’ve let yourself become nothing but a crutch—an enabler? Better the Catholic one who’s not afraid of a hard day’s work than one who’d embarrass you before the soup course at dinner and wind up living on the dole the rest of your lives.”

The smile disappeared. “He’s perfectly suitable, Mama. They both are.”

“Oh, no. They absolutely are not.” Mama shook her head, casting a dismayed look Darcy Jean’s way. “You could have any handsome, fit young Methodist or Anglican in the five boroughs calling on you, Darcy Jean. Why must you always be the one to bring home the injured birds? And a circus performer at that! There can’t be any kind of future with a young man who can’t maintain a real, respectable job of any sort—and where _does_ he live now that he's no longer employed and traveling about by circus train?”

“With his older brother over the hardware store and gun range. He works part-time at both. Mr. Garvey always says he’s got a real good eye for target shooting. He’s recommended him for the school rifle team and an Olympic training team for archers.”

“Darcy Jean.” Breathless and scandalized, her mother patted her pearls. “Does he at least have any other skills to recommend him beyond his ability to shoot an apple off a fellow’s head?”

“He can do it blindfolded while riding a horse backward and bareback, stripped to his waist with a barefoot, professional dancer in a sequined unitard balanced on his shoulders,” Darcy spat, her eyes snapping fire. 

“Darcy Jean!” her mother exclaimed at the mention of the ‘professional dancer’ (or possibly the sequined unitard).

But Darcy Jean was positively  _ done _ with this conversation. She moved to rise to her feet, but her mother laid a hand on Darcy’s knee. 

“Another moment, Darcy Jean,” her mother insisted, collecting herself with a steadying breath.

Darcy huffed and slumped back in her seat, but her mother tipped Darcy’s chin up and pressed her lips together in a firm line. “I’ve said I won’t tell you no. You’re contrary enough to follow in your Aunt Devlin’s footsteps and she’s troublesome enough in her own right to find you someone even less suitable just to spite your father and me. And that’s a whole new kettle of fish for the neighbors to gossip about over fences.”

After another deep breath, her mother continued, “You are extremely intelligent, Darcy Jean, but we've sheltered you to a great degree from how cruel the gossip runs at the country club when one becomes involved with an unsuitable man, bachelor or no. Perhaps we’ve done you a disservice in that. You know I don’t encourage gossip or discuss family business with anyone but your father, so you may not be as aware as you should, but you come from money, darling. Your father’s and grandfather’s work is in extremely high demand here in the city. Your maternal grandparents have built a small empire just in New York delicatessens, let alone the new luncheon meats packing business. These boys…”

Mama shifted forward to slide a hand up to Darcy Jean’s shoulder. “I don't think you realize just how great a chasm social and economic status can cause between young people like yourselves of such disparate backgrounds and advantages. These boys, from what I gather, very much do not have the same advantages as you. Not that I expected you to meet many of your social and economic peers in a public school, even in Ditmas Park or at Erasmus Hall, but these boys sound about as different from you as they can be.”

“You’re warning me off of Clint because he’s  _ poor _ ?” Darcy Jean’s face fell. She’d really had much higher hopes for her mother’s reaction to Clint, at least.

But Mama shook her head. “I’m not. I’m saying … you’d both have such a dreadful uphill climb, darling, with Clint’s patchwork background and the lack of proper oral education, and then his handsome shadow you’ll constantly be explaining to everyone who asks. Why make these things harder for yourself than they need be? And dating can be very expensive for boys, too, to cover the cost of a few dates each week. I’m concerned about him— _ them _ feeling like they don’t fit into your social circle, darling, or pruning you from yours.”

“My social circle? But I met them at  _ school— _ ”

“In high school,” her mother corrected. “A New York Public School you insisted on attending instead of a final year or two abroad like your brother and sister. Your social circle will change dramatically after high school, darling, whether you go away to Paris for a year, or attend college, or both. There are social and family obligations for a young woman of your means. And you’ll be a young woman of  _ considerable _ means, looking to settle down and make your way in polite society with a young man who can manage your inheritance and the family businesses. Much more eligible and qualified young men are going to pay you a great deal of attention between your high school graduation and marriage. You really oughtn’t waste a young man’s time, especially knowing he’ll never be capable of managing your financial interests with such an impairment hampering his education.”

Darcy crossed her arms. “And if I never marry?”

Her mama’s eyes widened in dismay. “Why on earth wouldn’t you marry?”

“No reason,” Darcy mumbled to the floor when she realized she couldn’t very well tell her mother about her problem of potentially too many boyfriends to fit into a traditional marriage after explaining she’d only considered dating the one of them. “And what if I want to go away to college to become a scientist or a doctor like  Janey Anne ?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” her mama promised, dismissing her concerns with the wave of a hand. “You might marry before then and it won’t even be an issue. One never knows when Mr. Right will come along, hm? Or Dr. Right.” She winked. “Come, introduce me to this young man and his friend. We should be polite, at the very least, if this is to be a temporary arrangement before you seek your proper diversions elsewhere,” Mama insisted, rising to her feet and tugging Darcy along by the hand. “Did you ask him to the dance?”

Darcy shook her head. “I asked him to dance with me at the beach. And then I was so nervous, I completely forgot how to waltz properly.”

“It’s not as if a bit of awkwardness would have mattered anyway, since he couldn’t hear the music,” Mama soothed, thoroughly missing her daughter’s point of order to make another dig at one of Darcy’s fellas.

In the sunroom, Darcy Jean and her mother found Clint and Bucky sitting side by side on the exotic bamboo-rattan modular sofa Darcy’s mama just adored—so much she decided she needed a whole room just to use the custom made sofa indoors. All the little chairs and tables in the room were made in the same style like the furniture in the oriental hotels her folks stayed in on their last summer tour when they traveled all the way to Hawaii and New Zealand and a dozen little islands in between. The bespoke furniture sat atop the floral oriental carpet her mama and daddy brought back from their honeymoon abroad so very many years ago. Poor Clint and Bucky looked like they’d sat crowded in the same spot ever since her mama left them there, their colas full to the brim and sweating in the warm air thrown by the fire her daddy lit in the parlor upon waking.

Darcy’s fellas scrambled to their feet when Darcy Jean and her mama entered the room, though. Like real gentlemen and everything.

“Well,” Darcy’s mama began, folding her hands over the belted waist of her fashionable shirt dress, “We’ve only met briefly when your new friends arrived, Darcy Jean. Please, introduce us properly, now we’re all present.”

“Mama, these are Clinton Francis Barton and his fel—I mean  _ best pal _ , James Buchanan Barnes.” Darcy shifted her weight from one foot to the other to dispel the nerves over her near-slip, and waved in her mama’s direction. “Fellas, this is my mama, Angela Lewis. You should just call her Mrs. Lewis, I suppose.”

Bucky stepped forward to briefly grasp Mama’s hand, then turned to sign carefully for Clint’s benefit as he spoke aloud to Mama, “Thank you for having us on such short notice, Mrs. Lewis. We only wanted to stop by to check on Darcy Jean. It was a long night down to the beach and none of us were as prepared for the cold as we should have been, I’m sorry to say.”

“They were perfectly swell gentlemen, Mama,” Darcy Jean explained, speaking at a pace she knew Bucky could keep up with signing for Clint since she knew he was still learning to read her lips. “Wrapped me up snug in their only blanket at the very first shiver and Clint gave me the jacket right off his own back.” 

Her heart fluttered in her chest at the flood of memories from last night. It really was just the sweetest thing ever. Once her body warmed through a bit, Clint was the one shivering. They’d scooted closer to the fire and used the cold as an excuse to cuddle Clint between them with the blanket pulled up high around their collective shoulders. Steve’s friend, Maria, loaned them a spare blanket from a stack in her father’s trunk for their laps. They spent a lovely evening whispering about everything and nothing, and pulling up the covers from time to time to neck a little in private as the fire burned low, casting long shadows across the beach between cars. 

Bucky kissed Darcy like a fella intent to take his time and worship every part of her. He even kissed her earlobe and sucked on it a little. She shivered all the way down to her toes.

Clint pulled Darcy right into his lap on the beach last night and kissed her like a fella who loved kissing and did it every day as a hobby, and twice on Saturdays for good measure. He kissed a lot, too—little kisses like he just couldn’t believe he got to kiss her and Bucky, both, and had to keep reassuring himself it was on the up and up, at least just between the three of them. Then sometimes, his kisses would turn real soft and slow, like sipping little tastes of the two them. Instead of the quick, desperate little sips, these were longer, like he wanted more, but needed to savor them, too, to quench his thirst for a long dry spell to come. 

He kissed like he had nowhere better to be than right there, necking with his girl and his fella under the covers until all their heads spun.

Darcy couldn’t help but wonder how  _ she _ kissed. Probably like someone without a lot of experience kissing. 

Well, before last night, that is.

Her fellas kissed her so many times last night, she couldn’t even count them all.

Clint even promised to kiss her other places. 

_ On her body _ . (She shivered.) 

And then he promised to kiss Bucky in all those other places, too, if she wanted to  _ watch _ .

Her skin flushed at the unaccustomed image the idea of it painted in her head. She liked watching Clint and Bucky kiss on the lips the way they did, so quick it could’ve been something else like sharing secrets instead of a quick kiss because they couldn’t be sure who’d see. She had a feeling she’d like it even more if they could all take their time and kiss away a whole afternoon sometime without any worries about who might see and tell.

“Well, that sounds very … lovely. What a … fine pair of … new friends you’ve found yourself, Darcy Jean,” Mama said diplomatically, even though she stumbled a bit, trying to find the right words in front of their guests. “While they’re here, you really ought to introduce your new friends to your father. Will the two of you be joining Darcy Jean for dinner this evening?” she inquired.

“Dinner?” Clint asked, waiting the necessary beat for Bucky to translate, then signed something quickly back to Bucky.

“That’s real nice of you to ask, ma’am,” Bucky answered, “and we’re grateful for the invitation, but maybe some other time. You see, we also came by to make sure Darcy Jean spoke to Janey Anne about the big do down to the beach again tonight. Everybody’s going. Tony Stark’s got his pop’s film projector to set up on the beach and a whole mess of swell films for us to watch and some of the fellas stayed down at the campsite all day, takin’ turns collectin’ driftwood and runnin’ off the Russian kids so we could keep our spot by the firepit.”

“That sounds like a very fun time,” Darcy’s mama assured them both with a wan smile that tried very hard not to be horrified by the mention of the Russian gangs who ran wild down near Brighton. “But as it was quite cold last night, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea two nights in a row.” 

“But Mama…” Darcy Jean protested.

Mama sighed. “If Janey Anne is going, I suppose there isn’t much use in trying to keep you home. I’m sure we’ve got a few tents and sleeping bags, too, you girls could use for your little campout with your friends.”

“You mean I can go?” Darcy didn’t dare to get her hopes up.

“If all your friends are going. Are you sure Janey Anne will be there again?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Bucky spoke up. “Her fella, Thor, too, and my pal Stevie, and his girl, Natalie, and her friends, Sharon and Maria. And Tony and his girl, a’course. Scott Lang and both the Peters, um, Wanda and her brother—well, I guess he’s a Peter, too. Gosh, just about everyone from the Madison junior and senior classes will be going tonight, ma’am. It’s our last weekend together at home before spirit week and the big pep rally campout in the country, and all the hoopla for the big Thanksgiving game, you know.”

“I hadn’t realized,” Mama murmured. “Will you be going on this country trip, too, Darcy Jean?”

“I’d like to,” Darcy Jean tentatively agreed, unable to believe her luck. “But Janey Anne’s been on the fence about it all because of the cold and she hasn’t got a tent—”

“So you’ll take the teardrop trailer, then,” Mama said, as if that settled things. Then, she tapped her chin. “In fact, you two might as well use it tonight as a trial run, see how you and Janey like the teardrop instead of your father’s old army tent. I wish I’d known sooner the student body at Madison was so outdoorsy.” 

She herded the speechless teenagers towards the front gallery. 

“Go and find your daddy, darling, and be sure to tell him you need him to pull out the teardrop and the tent. It’ll be easier to get changed into your nightclothes on the beach if you girls have the tent for privacy, too. I’ll go call Janey Anne’s mother, see what we need to arrange for this country trip next—when is it?” She paused, waiting for one of them to answer.

“Friday night, the weekend before Thanksgiving, up until the big game, ma’am,” Bucky supplied.

“Plenty of time,” her mother waved a breezy hand. “Let your father know I’d like a hand pulling down some blankets and pillows for you from the storage room upstairs, will you, Darcy Jean?” Mama called out as her skirts swished down the hall toward the door to the butler’s pantry.

“Where  _ is _ Daddy, Mama?” Darcy Jean called after her mother.

Mama’s head popped back around the door jamb. She pursed her lips. “It’s Saturday.”

Darcy Jean groaned and threw her head back.

“What’s it?” Bucky muttered.

Sure enough, when Darcy Jean looked out the window at the rear of the long gallery hall, there stood Daddy, hands on hips, talking in the general direction of the little pond area he’d cut out of the back patio. 

Darcy Jean’s mood darkened like a thundercloud. “Daddy’s talking to his fish.”

“What?” Clint laughed when Bucky translated.

“Mr. Lewis spends his Saturday afternoons communing with his Japanese goldfish,” Mama explained while Darcy stomped to the hall closet to fetch her Daddy’s spare flannel. “He’ll be out back by the fish pond. Apologize to Clinton on Mr. Lewis’ behalf in advance, please, James. Mr. Lewis won’t make half a lick of sense most of the time his mind is on his fancy fishpond endeavor or a math problem he's explaining to his fish directly.” She disappeared again, heels clicking across the floor as Darcy Jean struggled to slip her arms into her daddy’s oversized shirt. 

Clint stepped forward. “Here, let me—” He straightened the flannel sleeve and held it up. Darcy stuffed her arm in and pivoted, dropping a quick kiss on his lips in thanks before shooting a look over her shoulder to see they were alone. Then she treated Bucky to the same, humming with undisguised desire when Bucky slipped his arms around her waist and dipped into her mouth with the tip of his tongue to flick at her own. 

“Bucky,” she sighed, clenching her fingers tight in his jacket. 

“Later, promise,” he swore.

“Darcy Jean!” Mama called out, making them jump apart like startled frogs when Mama’s shoes clicked back in their direction from the kitchen. “Don’t forget to pack some extra warm clothes for tonight. And a pair of your daddy’s thick hiking socks. I don’t think you’ve got anything half warm enough. We’ll have to go to the sporting goods to make sure you’ve got everything you need for the trip to the country for spirit week,” Mama muttered, brushing past the trio on her way upstairs with a big flashlight. “Don’t forget to send Daddy up after he’s pulled the teardrop out of the carriage house, darling!” she called down the stairs, bustling off to find who knows what for Darcy Jean’s second impromptu overnight on the beach.

“What’s the teardrop?” Bucky asked as they walked arm in arm, three across, to the rear gallery. 

“It’s a small camping trailer, just big enough for a pallet folded up into a bench seat inside during the daytime that folds flat to a bed at night. It’s got a camp kitchen that pops open at the back, too, but it’s not much, really. The whole affair just gives you somewhere free of leaks to sleep out of doors, but it warms up nicely at night with one or two people inside and a pile of quilts. And it has a little heater! Me and Janey Anne used to camp out in it in the backyard and stare at the stars through the skyroof all night when we were younger.”

But sure enough, her daddy hadn’t half an ear or better for her and her fellas when they followed the muttering from the back door along the rear gallery to the wide, back patio with the big black square pond in the middle of it. Daddy stood on one of the square stepping stones staggered across the center of the pond, muttering math nonsense to his fish as he worked out ideas for his latest architecture project in his head. He roused only in so far from his stupor as to shake hands with Clint and Bucky, made appropriately polite noises when they complimented his fat, ugly fish, and only tore himself away when Darcy Jean told him Mama was waiting for his help with the camping gear upstairs.

“Wait, what?” Daddy blinked and finally looked Darcy Jean fully in the eye. “Why does your mother need the camping gear? Did I miss a fishing trip?” He scuttled off to the house without pulling the teardrop from the carriage house like he promised before he caught the thread of the conversation.

“It’s not heavy. We can pull out the teardrop ourselves,” Darcy Jean promised, making sure to face Clint when she said so. “I don’t know how we’ll get it down to the beach, though. I haven’t got a driver’s license or a car.”

“I’m pretty sure I can pull it with the bike,” Bucky said a few minutes later, looking it over, hands on hips, after Darcy Jean swung the carriage doors wide.

After a bit of huffing and puffing, they had the teardrop in the driveway and Bucky looked it over more carefully to see what all he’d need to install a hitch to haul it with his motorbike. But Darcy’s Daddy’s valet, Martin, solved that problem when he appeared in the drive from the side door with a set of keys in his hand. 

“Mr. Lewis says to check if one of your friends has a driving license.”

“I do, sir.” Bucky nodded.

Martin snorted. “‘Sir’.” Then turned to Darcy. “I’m sent to gas up the spare car and gather supplies from the grocer’s for a campout. Is there anything special you’d like, Miss Lewis?”

“Marshies and frankfurters would be swell, thank you, Martin,” Darcy dismissed her father’s man, stepping out of the way as Martin rearranged the teardrop off to the side in the lawn so he could back her Mother’s Chevrolet Nomad out to run his errands. 

“Darcy Jean, your daddy tells me he hasn’t met any new friends of yours!” Mama called down from the rear balcony off her bedroom. 

“He was right here the whole time, Mama, but there were fish!” Darcy Jean called back with relish.

Mama laughed. “Invite your friends back for a late brunch tomorrow, then. You know how he is on Saturday afternoons, Darcy Jean.”

Darcy huffed and rolled her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

A few minutes later, Darcy Jean and Clint had both doors open on the teardrop to air out the lingering smell of Daddy’s last fishing trip to the Pocono Mountains. Bucky popped open the camp kitchen to take stock and see what all they’d need to prepare dinner down to the beach. 

While they made their inspection, Mama reappeared, laden with a pair of duffels. “I’ve packed pillows and blankets on top of the sleeping bags, but you should still go on up and pack some warm nightclothes, Darcy Jean. And I’ve sent your daddy to fetch a few pairs of those hiking socks, too, just in case.”

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Darcy promised, turning to make for the stairs.

“I don’t mind coming along to carry your bag, Darcy Jean,” Clint hinted.

Darcy blinked and looked at her mama.

“That sounds like a fine idea. Especially with Martin out running errands. Thank you, Clinton.” Mama beamed at Clint like … like she could train him up right through positive reinforcement. Like a trained, dumb animal.

Darcy seethed, reminded suddenly of all the awful things her mother said about Clint.

But Mama wasn’t done yet.

“You better go along, too, James. You know how young ladies are. One bag is never enough.” She laughed and went back to stripping the mattress in the teardrop to remake the bed for Darcy Jean and Janey Anne.

Stomping up the backstairs, Darcy cast a few long, angry glares her mother’s way to no avail.

“Darcy Jean?” Clint asked when she threw open the door on the second story porch so hard, it bounced back, almost catching her in the face. He stuck out his hand to block it, probably saving her a broken nose. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

She opened her mouth, but her breath hitched. She shook her head and hurried down the hall to her bedroom at the rear corner of the house with her eyes trained on the floor. She couldn’t bear to look at Clint while remembering all those awful things her mama said about him.

“Darcy Jean?” Bucky repeated, quietly pushing the door closed behind as he followed her into the fussy pink and mint confection of her bedroom.

“She called him a dummy.” Darcy’s breath hitched again. She closed her eyes and a tear spilled over. “Mama did. She called Clint…” She shook her head, more tears spilling over. Devastated and ever so angry, she hugged herself at the elbows, trying to stem the oncoming flood of hot, furious tears. “She said such terrible, awful things earlier. And I could tell just now she was still thinking all of those _rotten_ things. I’m just so ... so angry, I could scream!” Her fingers tightened on her arms, trembling with pent up outrage on Clint’s behalf. 

Strong, steady arms wrapped around her waist. 

Darcy Jean sobbed into Clint’s throat.

“I don’t know why she’d say such awful, mean things. Then… Then, she said better a Methodist or an Anglican than an Irish Catholic like Bucky.” Darcy Jean’s shoulders inched up around her ears. “She said it was just fine you weren’t Jewish and all, but Irish and Catholic, and then deaf are a bridge too far, I guess. She said such mean-spirited things about you both on short acquaintance. I don’t understand!” Darcy sniffled.

“Shh…” Clint rocked Darcy Jean in his arms. “She can’t say anything I haven’t heard a dozen times before. It’s plain ignorance, Darcy Jean. There’s people supposed to be experts out there who got nothin’ better to do all day than spread lies about the Deaf is all. Your ma prob’ly just repeated what she read or overheard from one a’them.”

“And people are still pretty het up about the way the Irish have blown in all over New York since the war ended, then the intermarryin’ with the Italian Catholics, and one of our own Irish in the mayor’s mansion now, and so many on the police force and all. People don’t like change. If you don’t let that roll off like water on a duck’s back, it’d eat you up. I know none of the nastiest gossip is true and so do you, and that’s what matters,” Bucky assured Darcy Jean, laying a soft hand on the back of her neck.

“Don’t  _ excuse _ her. She doesn’t deserve that. She said…” Darcy sniffed and straightened her spine. “She said she’d allow me to be friends with you because telling me ‘no’ would only make me dig in my heels. She thinks you’re an itch I need  _ scratched _ . She actually said that! Can you believe it? She said I’d end up popping out freckled, half-blind brats the rest of my life, if I’m not careful.”

“Your ma’s head is still stuck in the past, sounds like. They did things different there,” Bucky reassured Darcy Jean, wrapping his arms around her and Clint, both. They stood together a while, all three, swaying gently until Darcy Jean found her equilibrium again and quit trembling.

When the phone beside her bed rang, Darcy Jean was quick to answer it, ignoring the surprised looks on Clint’s and Bucky’s faces as she swiped at her face and took a deep, resetting breath, and brought the receiver to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Darcy Jean?” Janey whispered.

“Why are we whispering?” Darcy Jean asked her very best friend.

“Because I’m suddenly going on a camping trip two nights in a row after your mama called mine to make sure I’d be going with you, which I am, and demanding Thor accompany us as a chaperone. She does realize he’s  _ our _ age?” Janey hissed.

“I’ll explain it all later, promise. Do you mind playing along for now?” Darcy Jean begged.

Janey Anne sighed. “We were going to come down to the beach for the evening anyway. Tony called Thor this morning to ask him to help move the projector equipment and now Thor’s vibrating like a golden retriever at the idea of going to a drive-in movie on the beach. Your mama said something about your camper, but we won’t need it. My daddy just bought one a few days ago.”

Two campers… Maybe Darcy Jean would get an evening alone with her fellas after all. “Listen, if anybody asks, you’re bringing your daddy’s trailer for you and me, and Thor’ll have mine. That’s the story, alright?” Darcy Jean whispered. 

A few seconds of silence was the only answer, then Janey Anne insisted, “Okay, but you’re telling me everything. _Everything_ , Darcy Jean. I saw you three on the beach last night, you know.”

“Deal. Hey, can you two come over to pick us up? Daddy’s got Martin hitching up the Nomad, but Bucky’s got his bike here and Clint hasn’t got his New York license yet, and you know I haven’t taken the practical. Thor can ride over with Bucky in the Nomad to get your trailer after we drop off the teardrop, then.”

Janey Anne covered the phone for a few moments, then came back on the line. “Thor says it’s no problem. He enjoys driving American cars,” she said with a fond eye roll apparent in her voice.

“Only because he thinks getting hit by them is some sort of American teenage mating ritual. Honestly, Janey Anne, I don’t understand how you clobbered him twice in two days and he didn’t turn right around and go back to Norway. Is he brain-damaged? How hard did you rattle his melon?” Darcy Jean snickered, stretching the phone cord to its absolute limit to snatch at the Tiffany-blue overnight bag in the hinged hassock at the end of her bed. She began stuffing clothing into it with little regard to its suitability for camping. When she turned her back to look for the little case with her toothbrush and travel vanity set, she missed Bucky quietly but efficiently unpacking everything. Clint sorted out what should go and what shouldn’t. Then, Bucky repacked those while Clint put away the rejected items, took a deep breath and crossed himself before diving into her closet to come up with the rest of the necessities. 

A warm flannel and a pair of canvas dungarees with an old belt that once belonged to her brother. 

The thick socks her daddy left out on her dresser. 

A cotton nightshirt and flannel robe, and a pair of matching house shoes.

All of these went in the bag along with the sweater, blouse, and camisole Darcy packed accidentally while she chattered on a bit with Janey about their plans for the evening.  When she turned back, Clint was gone and Bucky sat on the end of her bed beside her neatly packed bag, doing his best to look innocent.

“Gotta go, Janey. See you in thirty minutes.” Darcy hung up. “What are you up to?”

Bucky pointed to himself as if to say, “Who, me?”

It made her smile.

“And where’s Clint?”

Bucky hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Darcy Jean’s closet.

Inside, she found Clint staring down at a long drawer—the one filled with laces and satins and scraps of practical rayon and nylon. It should have embarrassed her to have a boy staring at her pretty underthings, but she felt more flattered than anything to discover him with one hand buried in baby pink satin, a thumb tracing over the circular stitching of one of her sweater bras.

“I’m not actually allowed to wear those yet,” she signed, coming up beside him. “My aunt sends me all sorts of wild, inappropriate things that I can only put away for later when my mother can’t disapprove of me using them.”

“What’s it for?” Clint signed silently, using the letter symbols and spelling it out for her sake.

“Breasts?” she signed back, framing her own for emphasis as she assumed the bra’s use was obvious.

Clint smiled and shook his head. “No, no. What… When would you wear it?”

“Oh.” Darcy felt her cheeks warm and flush. “It’s just a grownup sweater bra. A lady wears it under a snug sweater to … to show off, I suppose, and feel pretty.” She rolled her lips and bit at them, staring into the drawer, unable to quite meet his eye. “Mama says I can wear it when I’m married or old enough for proper stockings and fitted sweaters.” 

Darcy Jean sighed. “Mama says a lot of things. Maybe when I go off to college, she says, I’ll wear it with my co-ed sweater. _One_ day. _If_ I go. If the man she chooses and approves of for me even approves of fitted sweaters at all.”

“Or you could pack it tonight,” Clint signed, whispering as best he could. “Wear it just for you, or me and Buck sometime. With a sweater.”

Recklessness coursed through her veins. Hadn’t Natalie worn just this sort of thing to the dance and no one turned a hair? Natalie wasn’t so special that her folks just  _ handed _ her grownup privileges. She stood up for herself and took them, right? 

Darcy reached up onto a high shelf to pull down another gift from her Aunt Devlin. She grabbed another sweater bra from those under Clint's hovering free hand and some matching unmentionables and stuffed them in the fancy boutique bag with the rest of the gift from her aunt. She closed her eyes and shoved the whole kit and caboodle at Clint, speaking only loud enough that he could easily read her lips, “Pack it before I lose my nerve.”

When her eyelids fluttered open, Clint was gone. 

In the doorway, Bucky leaned against the jamb. “Can’t wait to find out later what put  _ that _ look in his eye,” Bucky drawled, catching Darcy Jean by the belt loops of her fitted pants and reeling her in for a kiss. 

“Janey and Thor’ll be here to round us all up shortly. You’ll find out soon enough,” she promised, kissing him right back.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please remember, I write fanfiction for fun. It's _supposed_ to be fun. I only ask you to be kind in the comments and not use the comment section to hint/suggest/request/demand updates that will worsen my anxiety. Choose wisely; be kind to your content creators and we'll want to write more fic all on our own!


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